Force of Nature: Prologue
by eau-de-nil
Summary: This four chapter prologue is set in the summer between season two and season three, introduces my OC Ivy, and sets the stage for my multi-chapter story, Force of Nature. Because Beacon Hills needs more faeries! Stiles/OC
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Tree Girl

The night was surprisingly cool, the air fresh and devoid of the heat that defined the long summer days. A haze of cloud swept across the horizon and settled on the mountaintops, and mist rose from the forest floor as the moon climbed in the sky. Three figures hiked silently along a winding, overgrown path through the heart of Beacon Hills Preserve. As the terrain grew steeper and rockier and the path arched and curved up the side of a mountain, Stiles began to fall behind, panting lightly and wishing for werewolf endurance.

"Uh, guys? Remember when Deaton said the thing is a weapon? It's hidden and not bothering anyone,_ so why are we unleashing the weapon?_" Stiles called out, gesturing wildly with the gardening shears he carried as he posed his question.

Scott and Allison slowed in their march to look over their shoulders at him. His face was pale and ernest in the moonlight as he looked from Scott's face to Allison's and back again, searching for some sign of agreement.

Allison stopped and turned to face Stiles. "No," she said slowly, sounding as if she had already explained this numerous times, "Deaton said the thing is a force of nature, and that his sister says whatever 'dark entity' is coming is going to use it as a weapon. And the Alpha pack wants it too. That's why we need to get to it first. We do not want something that powerful falling into the wrong hands."

Scott nodded in agreement and hiked his backpack up higher onto his shoulders. "Yeah. And besides, nature is good, right? And Deaton said the weapon will be sort of, you know, alive. Nothing deserves to be cooped up in a tree for a hundred and fifty years."

Stiles ran a hand down his face, clearly outvoted. "I get it alright? Yeah, we don't want the big bad wolves getting the thing." Scott turned away, satisfied, and began to walk again. Allison quickly followed. Stiles grumbled to himself quietly as they resumed their trek.

Over the next ten minutes the incline got steeper and the trees around them grew taller. Less light was filtering through the intertwining branches above, the darkness lending to a gloomy atmosphere. Allison clicked on her flashlight and Scott's eyes gleamed a faint gold as he utilized his wolf vision. Stiles found himself pushing to keep up, calves burning with the demand of the incline. Suddenly both Allison and Scott stopped. Stiles, watching the white laces of his converse flash in the darkness as he walked, bumped into the back of Scott.

"Ow. Hey, are we there?" Stiles asked, gripping the shears tightly and catching his breath as he looked around.

"This doesn't make any sense," Allison said, pulling her phone out of her pocket to check the map, "Look." She looked up from the phone and pointed the flashlight ahead. The watery beam illuminated wisps of fog and, straight ahead, a sheer cliff wall covered in looping vines of ivy. "The location Deaton gave us is supposed to be straight ahead."

"Maybe the map's wrong." Stiles offered, juggling the shears to rub out a stitch in his side

"Maybe..." Allison said, and she took a step back and appraised the cliff face. "Hiking around it could take all night."

"Wait." Scott said. He raised his face to the wind, his nostrils flaring. "I can smell something." He loped foreword, hesitating for only a moment. "You guys, I feel a breeze!" The dense curtain of ivy swayed slightly in a gentle wind that seemed to originate from within. Stiles watches as Scott pushed his arm into the dense curtain of ivy. "Yeah, it's a cave or something. Come on!"

The cave looked more like a tunnel, with almost perfectly rounded walls and a low ceiling no more than five feet from the ground. Stiles could see the faint glow of moonlight at the end of the tunnel, only about thirty feet away, but between the claustrophobic closeness of the walls and the sweeping cobwebs illuminated by Allison's flashlight, it was thirty feet Stiles had no interest in journeying.

Scott held up the hanging ivy as Allison ducked and entered. Scott glanced around, scenting the air to make sure that they hadn't been followed, and then slipped through himself. Stiles was left standing at the entrance, grimacing as he considered waiting there. "Yeah, just head right in. Into the creepy cave in the middle of the forest, at night, to find and unleash an ancient magical weapon hidden in a tree that all the bad guys are after. Great." Stiles grumbled, but he relented to the plan, ducking and covering his face with his arm as he made his way quickly and clumsily through the passage of stone.

Coming out the other side, the three of them stood in wonder for a moment. The cave tunnel had led to some sort of meadow completely separated from the rest of the forest. Surrounded on three sides by sheer cliff face and on one by a steep upwards sloping hill that led into dense old forest, the meadow was carpeted by lush green grass and masses of vivid summer wildflowers. A small waterfall cascaded down the farthest cliff face, feeding a stream that fed into a circular pool of crystal clear water. In the centre of a pool was a mound of dry earth, and upon that mound was an ancient oak tree, its branches knotted and its bark weathered, but with a full halo of shining green leaves. The moonlight fell softly and illuminated the entire clearing.

"Do you smell that?" Scott asked in wonder.

"Well, since you have wolf senses, the answer is usually no. But actually, this time, yes." Stiles inhaled deeply.

"It smells like..." Allison began, struggling to find the right words. "It's like, the warm ground after a cool rain. And flower nectar and tree sap and... and the freshest air I've ever smelled."

The three of them exchanged awed glances. Stiles, suddenly rethinking bringing the shears, set them down on the dewy grass and left them behind as the three walked across the meadow. Once they were close enough Stiles noted that there was a path of glittering stones leading from their side of the pool to the tree in the centre, just covered by the surface of the water.

"After you?" Scott said, and so Allison went first, her booted feet finding each rock with surety. Scott kicked off his shoes and socks and followed in bare feet. Stiles followed up behind, the cool water instantly soaking his shoes and socks and the hem of his jeans. Squelching up onto the earthen mound, Stiles was struck by the immediate sense of peace the washed over him. In the shadow of the oak the gathered tightness he carried around in his chest loosened and the weight of constant vigilance rose off his shoulders. What was this place? Could he just stay here forever?

"I guess that's why Deaton said that it had to be the three of us," Allison pointed at a celtic knot pattern with three intertwining loops, a carven handprint within each loop. Scott and Allison stepped foreword, their hands already raised. Apprehension seized Stiles once more.

"Wait!" Stiles said, immediately feeling foolish but finishing his thought anyway. "Are we sure we wanna do this? Why don't we just have Scott push a few boulders in front of the entrance and never tell anyone we found it? I mean, someone went through all this trouble to hide the weapon- the, uh, the nature force thing. And lock it in a tree. Maybe it's for a good reason?"

Allison turned to look at him, and in the moonlight she looked beautiful, even more than usual. Her hair looked thick and glossy, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes clear. Scott looked different too, rejuvenated and well-rested, the picture of health.

"Can't you feel it, Stiles? It's not evil. Something this beautiful, this pure, can't be bad." Allison sounded so sure, but Stiles remained unconvinced.

"Yeah, I don't think we have anything to worry about." Scott agreed, and he stepped forward and placed his hand into the print within the uppermost loop of the knot. Allison followed, pressing her hand into the bottom right. Now his friends were waiting for him, faces expectant. Stiles looked up to the heavens (the stars looked so bright! Was that the milky way?) and sighed.

"Please don't let us die," He asked of whatever deity was listening.

He pressed his hand into the remaining print. The wood beneath his hand felt warm, like the sun had just been beaming down on it a moment before.

"Remember what Deaton said," Scott looked Stiles in the eye, and Allison finished-

"Imagine it happening."

* * *

><p>There was darkness. Not blackness- but a deep, velvety darkness, like sleeping in the heart of the world. There was warmth and starlight shining behind her eyes. She drifted in and out of dreams- dreams of colour and smells, the sound of birds singing and the tiny rapid heartbeats of a family of squirrels, the timeless change of seasons, muffling snow, blooming spring, trembling autumn. She was comfortable. She was safe. She slept, and she dreamed, and she waited.<p>

And then there were sparks erupting from her skin and a charge running straight through her heart. Her eyes snapped open.

She was awake.

* * *

><p>Stiles gasped when he felt the charge leap through his hand to run up his arm and straight into his heart. His back arched as he tried to wrench his arm away, but he couldn't. On either side of him Allison and Scott twisted and pulled and tried to free themselves, but it was too late. The Celtic knot was glowing now, the orange glow of a sunset or a campfire. He felt an intense warmth radiating off the symbol, felt his eyes stinging with the brightness and heat. With a crack like thunder the trunk of the oak split down the centre, a great wave of force throwing the three backwards.<p>

Allison tucked and rolled, nearly rolling into the pool of water before stopping herself with an outstretched arm. Scott managed to twist in midair and land on the packed earth on all fours, while Stiles landed heavily on his back beside him, the wind knocked out of his chest from the impact.

Trembling and drained, Stiles pulled himself to sitting in time to see the symbol begin to cool, the orange light dimming into darkness. Once the heat had dissipated the branches of the tree shuddered, its branches trembling and raining leaves around them, and there was a faint creaking noise as the crack in the centre spread and grew into a gaping archway.

A faint shining, silvery like stars in twilight, came from within the heart of the tree. Stiles rolled from his back onto his stomach and stared. Allison was now standing, knees bent and her hand reaching inside her jacket for a weapon. Scott was crouching, his claws pressed into the earth and his wolfy face transfixed as he watched. Stiles squinted into the light, his curiosity overpowering the fear that thrummed quietly in his chest and keeping him from running.

Slowly, slowly, something began to emerge. Stiles eyes widened as he realized what he was looking at. He heard Allison whisper a tiny, disbelieving "no", saw Scott lean back in surprise out of the corner of his eye. Not something- someone.

A girl. A girl, her body covered in twisting vines, her long hair tangled with the plants, her body upright but limp. More vines writhed and moved of their own accord to lift her up and out. For a moment she hovered before them, her skin shining like wavering starlight on a pool of water. The moment her feet touched the grass the vines lost life, releasing their grip on her and snaking back into the tree. The light shining from her skin faded. Left standing in the moonlight, her eyes were closed and her face serene, as if she were asleep.

"It's... a person." Stiles choked.

The three of them looked at each other in shock and horror, and then back to the girl, who stood still as a sleepwalker, eyes still closed. The long hair hanging in wispy, tangled tendrils around her shoulders and across her chest was the girl's only point of modesty, being otherwise completely unclothed.

"It's a girl." Scott said weakly. Allison set her jaw and pulled off her jacket.

"And she's naked." She stated, creeping forwards with her black jacket in hand. Allison stopped just before reaching the girl and extended her palm in a friendly gesture. "Hello?"

"And... asleep?" Stiles said, his voice coming out slightly higher pitched than he intended.

Now that he was over the initial shock of finding a sleeping person in a tree, Stiles suddenly found himself very aware that said person was a very attractive naked female. Scott appeared to be in the same boat, determinedly looking everywhere but where Stiles felt his own eyes drawn like iron filling to a magnet.

"Hello?" Allison coaxed softly, her hand still reaching out.

The moment her hand brushed the cool skin of the girl's arm, the girl's eyes shot open and she gasped, a sound of fear and shock, and the twisting tendrils of her hair billowed around her as she stumbled backwards.

Stiles didn't know his body was moving until he was there, kneeling in the grass, the girl in his arms. She lifted her eyes to his and his breath caught in his throat. They were bright, so bright, reflecting the silver of the moon and looking at him like he was the most wonderful thing she'd ever seen. And then a shudder of pain wracked her body, and her eyes shut tight, and she went limp in his arms.

"Uh, guys? I think we broke her." Stiles gasped. Allison, now kneeling on the grass beside him, extended her arms.

"Pass her over." The skin of the girl's back and legs was soft underneath his fingers as he passed her into Allison's capable hands. Allison worked quickly, like she had practice dressing unconscious people, and in a moment the last button was buttoned and the girl was dressed in the knee-length jacket. Well, on Allison it was knee length. This girl was so small it fell past her knees, and when Stiles noted her size he felt slightly sick. She looked so fragile.

How could she be the weapon? She couldn't have been any older than the three of them. Well, he supposed, she had to be at least one hundred and fifty years old. The realization sent his mind reeling. Allison settled the girl on the grass, brushing her hair out of the face and leaning close to listen.

"Her breathing is good. Honestly, I think she's just asleep." Allison reassured the boys.

Stiles leaned back to sit on his heels, feeling slightly hysterical and totally baffled. "Well yeah, I mean, getting pulled out of a magic tree. That'll take it out of anyone."

Scott was standing at the oak, one hand trailing over the trunk. The entrance had closed up. All that remained of the girl and her exit a faint crack down the centre and the Celtic knot, scorched dark. He looked over his shoulder at them, sounding as lost as Stiles felt as he wondered aloud,

"Where are we going to put her?"

* * *

><p>To all of my new readers, hi! Thanks for reading! And a shout out to my two wonderful beta readers, Antoinette95 and Owenzeegirl, and to my cats, who keep me company while I write and never judge me when I binge watch season 3b (again).<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The Carriage House

The hike back was slower, but not by much. For Scott's werewolf strength the girl was an easy burden so the trick was not jostling her too much, and trying to avoid bonking her head on the stone walls of the narrow tunnel or into any trees (which only happened once).

By the time they got back to Stiles' baby blue Jeep the moon was beginning to set. After Scott set the girl in the back seat the three of them stood around arguing for a few minutes. Scott kept offering places to bring the girl- his house, Stiles' house? Allison bit her lower lip as she shot down each suggestion with reasons why it wouldn't work. Stiles kept running his hands through his hair, which was growing out of his usual buzz cut and feeling strangely soft.

"This is the absolute worst possible outcome of opening up a magical tree. Where are we going to put her? What are we going to do when she wakes up? How on earth are we going to keep in safe? " Stiles burst out.

"She's a person. You don't _put_ a person somewhere." Allison frowned at Stiles and Scott both, as if suddenly having a tree person to worry about was their fault.

"Okay, fine," Stiles said, flailing his arms in frustration, "Where is she going to live? Is that better?" He huffed in an exasperated way and leaned against the hood of his Jeep, his fingers drumming against the painted body.

"We'll keep her safe," Scott promised, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. "I don't know how, but we will. I mean, I expected to find a thing, you know? An object. Something slightly smaller than her. And less alive. But can do this. We'll keep her safe, and wait until she wakes up. Then we'll ask her about the weapon."

"Speaking of!" Stiles interjected angrily, "I have some words for Deaton. 'The force will have a sort of energy', 'It'll be as if it's alive'." Stiles dropped his hands, which had been making air quotes to punctuate his words, and looked through the back window of his Jeep at the sleeping girl within. "No kidding."

"It's not as if Deaton lied to us. He just... Must not have seen this coming." Allison rubbed her temples tiredly as she defended the veterinarian.

"We could bring her back to the clinic." Scott offered hopefully, but Allison shook her head.

"No. Remember, Deaton said that's the first place that the Alphas would look, and the extra protective measures won't be done until the next new moon."

"Oh. Right."

Scott checked the time. Allison twisted a strand of her hair, thinking. Stiles crossed his arms, still looking at the girl.

Her head leaned against the window, and though her eyes were still closed and she was a worrisome shade of pale her chest rose and fell regularly. How could she be the weapon? How would they keep her safe? The two question looped in Stiles mind like lyrics on a skipping CD. At least they hadn't gotten her killed yet. There was always time, though. Stiles could feel the threat of the Alpha Pack pushing in on them.

"Okay," Allison said in a firm, I'm-taking-charge voice. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and pressed two on speed dial. "I have an idea."

* * *

><p>Lydia swung open her front door. She was wearing a lilac baby-doll nighty underneath an open robe. Her feet were bare and her red hair was pulled up onto the top of her head in a messy bun. On her front porch stood Allison and Stiles. Allison was holding Scott's backpack in her arms. Stiles was holding a girl with leaves tangled in her long, incredibly messy hair.<p>

"There you are. Where's Scott?" Lydia inquired, not missing a beat.

"There wasn't enough space in the Jeep, so he ran instead. He should be here in a couple of minutes." Allison said. Lydia crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at the girl, who looked asleep but was very still in Stiles' arms. Her eyebrows arched in interest.

"So that's the tree girl huh? Well, my parents are in Puerto Vallarta for two weeks, so she can stay here. But not in the house- I can get away with a lot, but I think the maid would definitely notice an unconscious stranger suddenly hanging around. Bring her around to the carriage house in the back."

Allison looked at Stiles. "Are you okay to keep carrying her?" Allison looked over Stiles' lanky frame and toned, but not exactly muscular, arms.

"What?" Stiles asked, looking up. It took him a moment to process Allison's question. He had been hyperfocused, looking at the girl's face in the warm light spilling from inside the doorway. It was his first good look at her and he had just been noting something unusual about the shape of her ears. Lydia tilted her head, observing the tenderness with which he held the girl, the gentle expression on his face. She had never seen Stiles look at anyone else that way. It made her feel odd.

"Oh, no. She's like, freakishly light. I've got this." Stiles assured the girls. And it was true- his biceps were aching a little but he was mostly fine.

"Okay then," Lydia said, "Bring her around back, preferably before the neighbours notice."

Tree Girl (that's what they were calling her now) was sleeping on the green brocade sofa in the cozy living room of the Martin's carriage house, her hair draped across the arm of the sofa, her hands resting lightly on her stomach. The four of them sat at the dining room table across the way. Scott had arrived shortly after Stiles deposited Tree Girl on the sofa, only faintly out of breath as he thanked Lydia repeatedly for use of the little carriage house.

The floor plan was open concept, so the kitchen and dining area had a direct line of sight to the living room. As they talked Lydia, Allison and Scott took turns glancing over at Tree Girl, while Stiles, who was straddling his chair backwards resting his chin on his hands, kept consistent watch for any signs of waking.

"Did you notice her ears?" Stiles asked, interrupting the previous conversation about when Deaton would call Scott back and what they were going to do about making the carriage house hostile to werewolves without keeping Scott out. The table was silent for a second, so Stiles continued, "They're kind of pointed. Not a lot, but they are. Like an elf."

"Like Legolas?" Allison teased, and Stiles instantly regretted saying anything.

"Says the girl with the bow," he shot back, but Lydia pursed her lips and nodded.

"No, I noticed that. And if Stiles was able to carry her all the way from the street and across the yard with no problem, then she must be light. Like, suspiciously light."

"Oh thanks," Stiles said, sounding offended.

"But really," Scott said, "Lydia is right. So we have a girl, whose been stuck in a tree for one hundred and fifty years, and she has pointy ears and she's super light, and she's supposed to be a force of nature? I'm thinking she's definitely not human. So what is she?"

"The bestiary could really come in handy about now," Allison sighed, "But my dad has it, and he's still in France until next week. I really need to make my own copy. It'd be nice to know if she's going to turn into something come the full moon."

"Well, I mean, isn't the simplest answer usually the right one? Tree Girl looks like an elf. Maybe she's an elf." Stiles already felt his neck and ears going red as he began to speak, but it was the nervous laughter around the table that made his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

"Like Lord of the Rings? I dunno, Stiles," Scott chuckled, "That's a little far fetched."

"Says the guy who magically grows instant muttonchops and claws." Grumbled Stiles, and the rest of the table laughed again.

* * *

><p>Stiles woke to a beam of sunlight piercing through a space in the curtains to shine right in his eyes. He rolled away from the window, curling up into a ball and pulling the microfiber throw blanket he'd found in a closet more tightly around him. He rubbed his face into the soft, surprisingly comfortable carpet and shut his eyes to fall back asleep. Then, realizing what he'd just seen, his eyes snapped open and he shot upright.<p>

Tree Girl was awake. She was sitting with her bare legs stretched out in front of her, looking around herself in a disoriented way. Her hair was a vibrant ochre colour, wild and a little frizzy with bed head. Stiles scrubbed his hand over his face and then sat up, letting the throw blanket slide off his shoulders.

"Hi," he said cautiously. She turned her face towards him and smiled brightly, like she recognized him. Stiles was struck by how pretty and strange she was. Her eyes were large and slightly upturned on the outer corners, the colour a vivid, unnatural green. Her face had a pixieish look to it with her little chin and high cheekbones, and something the curve of her mouth made Stiles think that she had a grain of mischief in her. Her long, dark blonde eyelashes caught the sunlight as she blinked slowly at him. He blinked back and, realizing his mouth was hanging open a bit, quickly pressed his lips together.

Now she was looking around the room again, eyes wide as she took in the furniture and the knick knacks on the shelves. She swung her legs over the side of the sofa and stood. Stiles jumped to his feet and put a hand out.

"Wait! I think you should sit down for a minute, I mean, you've been asleep for... a really long time... And you're not listening to me." He said, shoving his hands into his pockets as she walked by him. "Okay."

Tree Girl wandered around the room, her feet stepping lightly on the carpet and so lightly on the hardwood she didn't make a sound. How did she make walking look like dancing? She held out her hands like feelers to trail across the yellow painted walls, glide over the smooth screen of the television, linger on the painted ceramic head of a cat statuette, feel the petals of the silk flowers in the vase on the table between her fingertips.

At the silk floral arrangement she frowned, and as Stiles watched she calmly picked up the vase, turned it upside down, and dumped out a shower of fake flowers and the small glass marbles. The marbles clattered loudly against the hardwood floor and rolled in all directions. She frowned down at the silk flowers in distaste, like they had personally offended her.

Stiles jumped back and shouted up the stairs, "Lydia! Allison! Tree Girl is, uh, awake! And breaking stuff." He added under his breath, stepping carefully to avoid stray marbles as he approached Tree Girl cautiously.

Tree Girl picked up a pair of sunglasses from the table and inspected the arms.

"Maybe don't touch-" Stiles winced as she snapped the Ray Bans in the middle. She dropped them on the table again, and moved on to examining a bowl of brightly wrapped candies.

The girls appeared at the top of the stairs. Allison held a Chinese ring dagger in her hand. Lydia clutched a golf club in hers. "Are you okay?" Allison asked Stiles.

"Yeah, I'm okay, and I don't think weapons are necessary-" The girls descended the stairs, ignoring Stiles as they rushed into the living room. Tree Girl spun to face them, a candy held delicately in her fingers, and appraise the girls. When her gaze fell to Allison's blade she tilted her head curiously, but when she saw Lydia's golf club she paled and took a step back. She bumped into the side table, rattling the bowl of candies, eyes wide with fear.

"I don't think she's dangerous!" Stiles interjected, placing himself between the three young women.

The three girls stared each other down in silence for a moment. Then Allison nodded once and put away her dagger. "I think you're right," Allison agreed, "She doesn't look dangerous." Lydia didn't look convinced, though she did lower the golf club to rest on the floor beside her.

Tree Girl tilted her head, looking from Stiles to Allison to Lydia and then back to Stiles. Still wary of the golf club, but more curious than frightened, she took a step towards the three and held out the candy, its wrapper glinting in the sunlight.

"A'eralil esnya epeccil yalilal?" Tree Girl spoke. The language was musical and rhythmic, and though Stiles listened closely, the words were elusive and he seemed to forget them the moment her heard them. Allison stepped forward to take the candy, smiling and confused.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I don't speak, uh, that."

The girl frowned, clearly disappointed.

"I don't think anyone speaks that," Lydia said quietly. "It doesn't sound like any language I've ever heard. It's probably elf language or something."

"A'eralee paelensa?" Tree Girl tried again hopefully. She stepped closer to Allison- they were very close now- and gestured to the borrowed jacket that was wearing. "Eresanolae."

"I think she's saying thanks for the jacket," Stiles offered.

"Oh, no problem." Allison smiled at Tree Girl with practiced warmth.

The girl took another step forward and smiled back. "Paelesala eretisi deolan esu sil?" The girl asked, and Allison looked over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. Stiles raised his hands in an 'I have no idea' gesture. Lydia just pursed her lips and rested one hand on her hip.

"We're going to have a serious communication issue." Lydia stated.

"Maybe Deaton speaks elf?" Stiles realized his joke wasn't funny the moment it left his mouth. He couldn't help it, though. Stupid stuff just slipped out of his mouth when he was nervous.

"Paelesala eretisi deolan esu sil?" Tree Girl asked again, and Allison turned back to her with a slightly helpless look. Tree Girl had her hand out in the universal gesture for please. "Paelesala eretisi deolan esu sil?" She repeated.

"Uh... Yes?" Allison answered, more a question than an affirmative, but it was apparently what Tree Girl wanted, because she smiled in relief. Allison was just about to wonder aloud what she had agreed to when Tree Girl closed the gap between them, wrapped her arms around Allison's neck, and pressed her lips to hers.

Allison made a small sound of surprise. Her hand flew up, the candy falling to the carpet. Lydia gasped in anger and rushed forward with the golf club held high but Stiles grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back.

"Wait!" He managed to get out. Lydia stopped struggling against him, realizing what was happening only a moment after he did. "I don't think she's hurting Allison..."

She was kissing her. Once the initial few seconds of shock wore off Allison realized what was happening and, strangely enough, felt her body relax. Tree Girl's lips were soft and cool, her kiss gentle but insistent. Allison could smell her hair- she smelled just like the clearing they'd found her tree in, like sweetness and rain and the freshest breeze. Her hands settled themselves against Tree Girl's waist. Her heart hammered as her lips parted to Tree Girl's, and as the tip of Tree Girl's tongue gently brushed the tip of her own she felt her legs go all trembly and weak. Tree Girl tasted sweet.

And then the kiss was over, Tree Girl had pulled away and was now mouthing silent words and looking thoughtful. Allison, feeling dizzy and weak in the legs, pressed her fingers against her mouth and looked to Lydia. Lydia left the golf club to lean against the wall and moved to Allison's side. Stiles stood dumbstruck at the threshold to the living room, his own legs feeling pretty weak themselves.

"What the hell, Tree Girl? You can't just randomly make out with people!" Lydia shouted angrily, then wrapping her arm around Allison. At that moment Scott burst through the front door, his hands laden with bags brown paper bags printed with the logo of a local café. His eyes were gold and his claws were out.

"What's wrong? I heard Allison's heartbeat- Woah, she's awake!" His claws vanished and his eyes cooled to their usual brown as he took in the site before him. Lydia continued glaring at Tree Girl. Allison dropped her fingers from her lips and turned to face Scott and Stiles.

"Nothing's wrong. I mean, I'm not hurt, Tree Girl just... Kissed me." Allison's cheeks were red as the roses outside the window.

Scott and Stiles exchanged looks. Scott's said, _What? Seriously? And I missed it?_, and Stiles' said, _Seriously_, and, _It was amazing_, and, _I'm still in shock_.

And varying expressions of apprehension, shock, suspicion, confusion, and post-kissing daze all turned to one shared look of surprise when Tree Girl said,

"I am sorry if my kiss upset you, Allison. Thank you for the language."

* * *

><p>A big thank-you to my beta Antoinette95 for her suggestions on this chapter, and thank-you to my readers so far!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Faerie Tales

Tree girl sat cross legged on the sofa, a pile of discarded wrappers in her lap as she enjoyed the fruit flavoured candies. Once Allison had showed Tree Girl how to open the crinkly wrappings she'd eaten her way through half the bowl in no time, sighing with delight every time she popped another candy in her mouth.

Everyone else was seated around her- Stiles slouching low in the overstuffed armchair to her right, Lydia perched primly on the wooden rocking chair to the left, and Allison and Scott sitting on the carpet with a noticeable distance between them. There was an uncomfortable silence as they looked at each other, each wondering who would speak first and what to ask.

Scott, sensing that maybe he should take the lead, cleared his throat. "So, um, what's your name?"

Tree Girl stopped in mid-reach for another candy and paused to think.

"I am called the name of a plant from Faerie. I am not sure what the word is in your language. I think there might not be one. I think that the closest is-" She pointed to a small potted plant resting on the centre of the dining room table.

"Ivy?" Lydia offered, and Tree Girl nodded.

"Yes. You may call me Ivy." A thoughtful pause. "And you are Allison," she said to the dark haired girl, who flushed just a bit under the faerie's direct gaze, "But I don't know the names of the wolf and the others." Scott started at the word 'wolf' but quickly relaxed when he realized who, or what, he was talking to.

"Well I'm Scott, and this is-"

"Wait!" Stiles interjected. He surprised himself at his outburst but he decided to roll with it, pulling himself forward in the hair and resting his elbows on his knees.

"I mean, I don't know a lot about this particular brand of weird yet, but I did a bit of reading on my phone last night, and one of the things I've read is that names are, like, powerful. That if someone knows your true name they have power over you." Lydia was watching his face closely as he spoke. Scott was looking confused. Stiles purposely avoiding looking at Ivy when he spoke this next part, "That's why fairies will never tell you their true name."

"Fairies?" Scott asked incredulously. He turned his attention from Stiles to appraise Ivy. "Aren't fairies like, tiny? With wings? And Tree Girl- I mean, Ivy is small, but she's normal sized."

"I don't know, Scott," Lydia said with a thoughtful frown, "There are lots of human-sized fairies from different cultures all over the world. I've read a bit about it."

"It's not any more strange than werewolves," Allison offered. As if remembering that Ivy was listening, all four heads snapped back to look at her. She was about to put another candy in her mouth, but seeing everyone's curious eyes on her she lowered the candy back to its wrapper and considered before speaking.

"Yes, I am of the fair folk. The Good Neighbours, the human folk called us. We call ourselves the Sidhe." She pronounced the word _Sidhe_ like 'she', with a quiet reverence. As she spoke she twisted a strand of her hair around her finger. Stiles felt his brain zoom in and hyper-focus there. Her hair was the colour of darkened honey, frizzy with flyways and tangled around her shoulders, but it looked soft. It still had a leaf in it.

And now Ivy was looking at Stiles, who snapped his eyes away from examining her mess of hair and shifted nervously in his seat. "I thought that the humans would have forgotten us by now. Your lives are so short and your eyes are blind to Faerie. How did you know?"

"Ah," he said nervously, pulling his phone out of his pocket to fiddle with as he spoke. "First it was your ears that made me think it. And how light you were. And when I googled 'elf' and filtered out the Christmas results, an article on different kinds of fairies came up. The article said that fairies are spirits of nature, and we were looking for 'a force of nature', right?" He directed this part to his friends as he gestured with his phone, who nodded in consensus. He continued, "But I knew for sure just now, with Lydia's golf club. You looked more scared of Lydia's golf club than Allison's knife and, well, that golf club is made of iron."

"Fairies are scared of iron?" Scott asked incredulously.

Ivy glanced briefly at the golf club still leaning against the wall nearby, letting go of her hair to wring her hands, but before she could answer, Lydia cut her off.

"We're still not sure who this person is, or if she's even what she says she is." Lydia reminded the group, "So forget iron. The question we should be asking is, are faeries friendly? Or do we have something to be worried about?" Lydia looked Ivy full in the face, defiant. She was clearly still holding a grudge against Ivy for kissing her best friend. Ivy seemed to not be offended, but she tilted her head in that curious way, thinking.

"Lydia," Allison sighed, "We're all a little weird here. I come from a long line of French monster hunters, Scott is a werewolf, and you... Well, I don't even know what's going on with you." This last thing was said lightly, teasing her in that friendly way that only Allison could get away with.

Lydia saw the truth in this, her face relaxing from a frown to a thoughtful expression as she considered her involvement in the events of the last year, of Peter Hale, of how she was bitten by an Alpha and neither turned nor died, of the strange, increasingly disturbing dreams she had been having. When she looked at Ivy again it wasn't with warmth or acceptance, but tolerance. "Fine." She chirped, crossing her legs at the ankles and leaning back in her chair.

"Well, Stiles is one hundred percent, completely average, unremarkable human." Stiles said, trying to lighten the mood. "And still wondering about the iron thing." He pointed at the gulf club still leaning against the wall nearby. Ivy stared at the club, letting go of her hair to wring her hands.

"Ivy," Scott's voice was gentle, "Is there anything we should know? About how to keep you safe?"

Ivy looked down at her hands and gave a little shrug of her shoulders. "Iron hurts faeries. It's like we are- like we are allergic. It burns us when we touch it. It makes us sick and can prevent us from healing or using our magic..." Ivy's voice trailed off, sounding the way a person does when they're reluctant to tell and worried that someone would know they did. Stiles realized that she was telling them this, being vulnerable by revealing her greatest weakness, because of Lydia's suspicion. Because she wanted them to trust her. He regretted saying anything.

"Well, I'm Stiles." He offered, throwing caution to the wind and giving her his name with a grin. She looked up in surprise, then nodded in thanks.

"And I'm Lydia," The redhead offered grudgingly, tossing her hair over her shoulder, "And this is my place you'll be staying at for the next two weeks, or until we figure out what to do with you."

* * *

><p>A long discussion followed the introductions, the conversation largely frustrating and a little confusing for everyone involved.<p>

The part about Deaton and the codex and Deaton's psychic sister had been well-received by the faerie, and the story of how Allison, Stiles, and Scott had opened the tree went smoothly enough. As they had agreed last night while Ivy was sleeping, the four friends left the part about the 'dark force' out of their explanation.

If Ivy noticed the hole in the tale she didn't say so. If anything she seemed strangely resigned to the whole thing, as if she had expected to be woken in the future by people looking for a force of nature to defend themselves with. She asked few questions and seemed more interested in Scott, Stiles, Lydia, and Allison than in matters of good and evil or secret magical weapons.

When Allison asked about why she was in the tree, who had put her there, Ivy's eyes flashed and her expression darkened and she refused to say anything about it. She also wouldn't say exactly where Faerie was, or how you get there, saying only that there were pockets of reality where the faerie realm and the human world overlapped, and that the meadow where they'd found her was one of those pockets.

Ivy had a good grasp of werewolf lore and seemed unthreatened by Scott, but she was obviously wary of Lydia and her golf club. Ivy didn't seem to have a real solid grasp on the concept of time, explaining that fairies have long life spans and that time moves differently within Faerie, and so it took some explaining to have her understand the scope of the time she'd spent asleep.

Lydia ended up grabbing a notepad and a pencil and drawing ten groups of fifteen tallies to illustrate. When she finally got it, that almost one hundred and fifty years had passed, Ivy sunk back into the sofa in stunned silence. Her face was pale as a sheet.

"Hey, Ivy?" Scott asked gently, "Are you okay?" She didn't answer. Then she jumped to her feet so quickly that the bowl of candies went flying.

"No," she gasped, her hand making fists at her sides and her eyes shut tight. "No."

Allison was standing now, reaching for Ivy, murmuring 'it's okay', but Ivy pushed her hand away.

"No!" She shouted, her voice cracking, and the whole room began to vibrate.

That's what it felt like, Stiles thought, as he gripped the arms of his chair and stared on at the scene. It was like every knickknack and book and vase began to shudder across their resting surface like a cellphone set on vibrate. Even the ceiling light was swinging back and forth, the little faux crystals trembling in an unfelt breeze.

Allison looked around the room with dawning horror, and then back to Ivy, and she reached out again.

"Ivy-" she began, but Ivy slapped her hand away and made a sound like a cat yowl in the back of her throat.

Ivy covered her face with her hands. The shaking intensified, the coffee mugs from last night vibrating right off the counter to shatter on the kitchen floor. Ivy's hair was wavering around her, and now everyone was on their feet, and Scott was looking to Stiles like he should know what to do, and Lydia was shouting at Ivy, something about wrecking the carriage house and her parents killing her. And that's when Stiles saw the way Ivy's shoulders were rising and falling so rapidly, like she was hyperventilating, and her hands were shaking, and he knew.

"She's having a panic attack!" He shouted. Lydia stopped yelling and and Allison and Scott, both of whom had gotten quite close to Ivy in an attempt to talk to her over the noise, jumped backwards so the fairy had space again.

Everyone was watching him like he was doing something stupid as he made his way across the vibrating floorboards to wrap his hand around Ivy's upper arm. She didn't push him away or resist, so he pulled her across the room and to the front door, which he flung open without stopping, and led her into the yard.

The shaking ceased the moment Ivy's bare feet touched the damp grass.

It was midmorning and the sun was shining from a blue, cloud spotted sky. Perfect summer weather. The sound of the water lapping in the Martin's pool carried across the lawn, and there was a songbird singing cheerfully somewhere nearby. Stiles released Ivy's arm and watched as she lowered one hand, the other moving to press against her forehead. She looked pale and she was trembling, still breathing like she had run a marathon.

"You're having a panic attack," He said, and when she didn't move or respond he offered, "It's- It's an anxiety thing. You need to calm down. You need to breathe slow."

She gasped, and then she gasped again, trying, and failing, to regain composure. Standing this close he could feel a faint pulse of energy coming off of her and it made the hairs on his arms stand on end. Not wanting the shaking to start up again he looked around for something, anything, for any ideas. He saw Allison and Scott and Lydia standing in the doorway, staring at Ivy like she was a bomb about to go off.

Stiles dropped to the ground and patted the grass beside him.

"C'mere," he said, "Look at all this nature. The weather's perfect, you can hear the water, and the birds are singing, and there's beautiful trees-" He winced thinking that maybe he shouldn't have mentioned trees, but she didn't seem to catch it and dropped to the grass beside him.

He sighed in relief when she tangled her fingers in the grass, pressing her nails into the dirt, and her breathing began to slow. After a long moment she opened her eyes. She looked drained, tired to the bone. Stiles knew the feeling. He watched her face carefully as colour returned to her lips and she began to look around.

Glancing back at the doorway he saw Lydia and Allison looking as relieved, and Scott was giving him a grateful thumbs up. _Yep, that's me,_ Stiles thought, _Supernatural therapist extraordinary. I have a degree in faerie wrangling._

The faerie in question was looking at him now. He felt his brows furrow and his ears go red at the intensity with which she was inspecting him. She looked him over, eyes trailing from the plaid button-up, to the faded jeans with the little hole in the knee, to the wet grass stained socks, before settling on his face again. He wanted to look away, but he also didn't want to, because he had just really noticed her eyes.

He'd never seen eyes like that before. Lydia's eyes were a sea green, very pretty and entirely human. These looked human, but also not, the unnaturalness of the colour emphasized by the intensity of her stare. They were really many different kinds of green, he realized, a kaleidoscope with the colours of spring buds and summer leaves and moss in the mix. It was a little eerie and he liked it.

"Thank you," Ivy said quietly.

"For what?" Stiles realized what for right after he'd asked. His brown eyes widened. "Oh, the, uh, that. Yeah, no problem. I get 'em too. Panic attacks, I mean. I don't make stuff shake though. That was intense." He gave her a crooked smile, and she gave him a tentative smile back, but the smile didn't reach those green, green eyes.

And then Allison and Scott were standing beside them.

"Feeling better now?" Scott asked kindly. Ivy nodded.

"I feel better outside." The fairy admitted. She pulled her hands free of the grass and pushed her hair away from her face, leaving a little smudge of dirt across her forehead and grass pieces in her hair. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to... I can't control it yet."

"I get it. I really do." Scott said, thinking of his time as a new werewolf, the bloodlust, the time he attacked Stiles in the locker room. "Nobody got hurt, so don't worry about it, okay?"

There was an uncomfortable silence between the three. The bird was still singing somewhere nearby. Stiles watched as Ivy ran her hands through the grass again and again.

"We should eat," Allison said brightly, breaking the silence. "I'll go and get Lydia and the food and we can have a picnic."

* * *

><p>After eating their way through the assorted breakfast foods and pastries Scott had brought back from the neighbourhood café, the four friends and Ivy rested on the green grass. The sun had moved overhead and the summer day was heating up, but they were cool in the shade of the tree beside the carriage house.<p>

Stiles was working on the last sandwich half and Ivy was sipping contentedly from a giant cup of liberally sweetened tea. Allison, Scott, and Lydia talked quietly together, making plans.

"Was that your first bagel?" Stiles asked, and Ivy swallowed a mouthful of cool tea to reply,

"Which thing was the bagel?"

"The bread with the hole in it," Stiles said, "And the thing with blueberries was a muffin."

"Oh. Yes, the hole bread was adequate, for human food. Not what I expected. " Ivy seemed surprised, like she had expected humans to live off of tasteless gruel, or maybe dry bread and water. Stiles felt weird being referred to as a 'human' all the time. Ivy seemed human enough, but how much could you trust appearances? Scott seemed normal until he wolfed out.

"So faeries eat, huh? That's cool." It came out a bit sarcastic (his defence mechanism in the midst of the supernatural) but Ivy didn't look like she minded, or noticed. "What's faerie food like?"

"Yes, we do." She sucked on the end of a wooden stir stick for a moment, and then added, so quietly Stiles had to lean in to catch it, "Our food is mostly fruits and nuts, and a very large amount of dessert. I remember the cake we had on my last Naming Day anniversary. A tower of cake and whipped cream drizzled with syrup, with flowers and stars of spun sugar on top. We drink faerie wine with every meal and we dance after dinner."

"That sounds amazing." Stiles admitted, "Though I'm more of a salty snacks guy myself. You know, curly fries, cheeseburgers, Doritos..."

Ivy's expression told him that she had no idea what he was talking about, of course, so he added, "Don't worry, I'll introduce you to curly fries. Food of the gods." A pause. "So, since you're a faerie, will you need food from Faerie, or will you run okay on the human stuff?"

Ivy was silent for so long Stiles figured he must have offended her somehow. Her face looked sad and distant. He shrugged his shoulders in discomfort and was about to tell her she didn't have to answer when she blurted out,

"I am half human. My mother is human." And then, so quietly her lips barely moved, "Was human". She turned her face away to hide her clenched teeth and the rage that burned in her eyes.

Stiles stared at the back of her head as realization dawned. Ivy's mother was human. Ivy's mother was dead. Long dead.

Stiles wondered how long Ivy had thought she would be in that tree- prophecies must not be an exact science. He wondered if she'd agreed to it, or if it was some kind of fairytale curse type thing. And in wondering all this he wondered what to say. He hated all the cliché things people said about his mom. He reached out to touch her hand but stopped, resting his hand on the grass between then instead. He looked away, flustered, and then looked back again.

"I'm sorry." Stiles finally said. His friends had stopped talking and were now staring at the two of them curiously. Scott could probably smell Ivy's grief and Stiles' deep desire to sink to the bottom of Lydia's pool and stay there until he was no longer a walking embarrassment.

"Sorry for what?" Lydia inquired. Ivy set the empty paper cup down on the grass beside her then turned her face to Lydia, her face a smooth mask, revealing none of her sadness or anger. Her hands betrayed her though, working their way into her hair, anxiously twisting and tugging.

"I am to stay with Lydia, until there is a safer place for me?" Ivy confirmed, although they'd already gone over it multiple times.

Allison and Scott looked at each other, one of those significant looks where you decide on the answer together without saying a word. It was nice to see how pulling a fairy out of a tree brought them together the past two days. _Man, they should still be dating,_ Stiles thought. But what he thought apparently didn't matter much in the midst of Hunter/Werewolf romance angst.

"Yes," Scott said.

"Mhmm," Lydia confirmed, graciously letting her question drop. "We'll figure something more permanent out. But for now you stay here."

Ivy turned her head to look over at the carriage house, her shoulders drooping and her posture becoming melancholy.

"If you're okay with that." Allison's words were slow and accommodating. "Honestly, when we opened your tree we thought we would find a... Well, I don't know exactly what we expected. We definitely weren't expecting to find a person."

The way that Ivy's eyes narrowed made Stiles wonder if Ivy knew what they expected to find- an ancient supernatural weapon to protect Beacon Hills. He wondered how that made Ivy feel.

"Ivy," Scott said, "I don't know if we did the right thing. But you're awake now. And we'll do our best to protect you, but some big stuff is going to go down, and Deaton thinks you can help all of us. So we have to figure that out."

Ivy looked to Stiles like she trusted him, like she wanted to know what he thought. He backed Scott up, nodding in agreement.

"Right. And we really can't make you do anything, so if you wanna go back to Faerie or whatever, you can," Stiles said.

Allison was looking concerned and Scott was giving Stiles a disapproving 'what are you doing' look, but Stiles ignored them and quickly continued,

"But it's probably best you stay here until we're sure it's safe. And, I mean, you've been asleep a while. Have you ever even seen a car? Or electricity? You might need us to show you around."

Ivy gave her hair one last tug (no wonder it was so messy, Stiles thought, she constantly had her fingers it in) before dropping her hands into her lap. She looked at each one of them in turn, taking her time in consideration. When she finally spoke her decision sounded like a sigh.

"Yes. I will stay here."

And then, in a voice both quieter and sharper, with a look in her eyes that made the hair on the back of Stiles' neck stand on end,

"I will be your weapon."

* * *

><p>Hi friends! Thanks for sticking with my little story so far. This chapter was a bit longer, and it hasn't been touched up by a beta yet, so I hope you liked it. Thank-you for your sweet reviews, they are always encouraging and much appreciated.<p> 


End file.
